


Belgian Chocolate

by darklycomic



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 12:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3936346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darklycomic/pseuds/darklycomic





	Belgian Chocolate

It had only been a matter of time. Alex knew it, Moira knew it, the whole damn world knew it: the United States was joining the fight against the Axis Powers, and to do that, they’d need every able-bodied man to do his part. There would be a draft. Alex had avoided it for as long as he could, and then when the call came, there was nothing more he could do. 

On January 22nd, Alex put on his army uniform (the cap covering most of his new, closely cropped haircut), slung his bag over his shoulder, and kissed Moira goodbye at the bus stop. He didn’t look back once he got on the bus. He wasn’t one of the many smiling men who waved one last time to their sweethearts and children, practically falling out of the windows. He would always regret that.

Alex was stationed in Belgium, in a town called Chimay, just 30 minutes north of the French border. It was surprisingly quiet for the first few months and Alex wrote to Moira every week. If there was a war going on, he and his fellow soldiers didn’t see it.

“May 29th, 1944  
My Dearest Moira,  
Having only your picture here is the most taxing thing I have ever endured, more so than having to bunk with a hundred other men, even. Most of them have their own wives back home, or girlfriends, and we swap pictures to brag. It’s really the only entertainment we have.   
I’m not complaining, though. Chimay is beautiful. I’d love to take you here once I get back home. It’s not very touristy, in fact it’s really small – only a few thousand live here – but there are fields and castles and libraries that I know you’d love. And, to answer your question, yes, it’s true what they say about Belgian chocolate. It’s better than any Hershey bar you’d pick up at the corner store. I’m not allowed to send you anything, but I’ll buy a pound of it for you, take it home with me, and you can see for yourself. They taste like a little bite of heaven.  
I’m told that there’s something big coming up in the next few days and I’m not allowed to say anything about it. I wish I could. I’m sure if it’s as big as they say, though, you’ll see it on the newsreel when you go to a movie. In fact, I’d encourage you to see a movie. You need to get out more. Go with some of the girls from the block, and then write back to me and tell me all about it, if only for my benefit. I’ll be looking forward to it.  
All My Love,  
Alex”

That was the last letter Moira would receive from him. And she did what he asked. Moira gathered together a few of the women from the neighborhood and they went to the local movie house. A Sherlock Holmes thriller called “The Scarlet Claw” was playing. Most of the women shrieked at all the little scares, but Moira was intent on watching for the story, a welcome distraction from the worry she felt whenever she thought of Alex.

The post-movie newsreel quickly brought her back to reality, however, as the voiceover spoke of the bravery of the men who had stormed Normandy Beach on June 6th. Knowing that Alex’s platoon had been stationed relatively close to France, she silently prayed he hadn’t seen any action, biting her thumbnail as she watched the footage of the event on the screen. It was impossible to tell if any of the soldiers on the screen were Alex, but she couldn’t help but look for him anyway.

She told herself on the way home that she hadn’t seen him and therefore he was still safe, tucked away in that little town to the north of the border.

Arriving home, Moira immediately took out a piece of paper and a pen, beginning to write to Alex to tell him all about “The Scarlet Claw” – how it had all been a bit ridiculous, how Shirley from next door had screamed in fright at almost every little thing, but how she had enjoyed it anyway.

And then came the knock on her door.

“Coming!” she called, putting her letter in an envelope and putting it on the table. She hurried to the door, her A-line skirt fluttering about her legs as she went.

“Mrs. Barrett? My name is Sergeant Paul Singer. I have been asked to inform you that your husband has been reported dead in Normandy, France at 0700 hours. He and his platoon were of the many who stormed the beaches recently. He suffered a bullet wound to his stomach and was taken to the nearest base camp, where he was found to be dead on arrival. Corporal Barrett will be awarded the Purple Heart posthumously for his bravery on the battlefield. On the behalf of the Secretary of Defense, I extend to you my deepest sympathy in your great loss.”

Moira didn’t need to hear what the man at the door had said. Her face had become crestfallen as soon as she saw his US Army uniform. She knew what he would tell her. Her gaze flitted to the house across the street where she saw her neighbors looking as discreetly as possible from their front porch, watching for her reaction. She heard snippets of the army official’s words: “husband”… “dead”… “Normandy”… “Purple Heart”… “sympathy”.

Moira could barely meet the man’s gaze as she uttered a quiet, shaken, “Thank you,” before beginning to close the door.

“One – one more thing, Mrs. Barrett. Um, this is a more personal thing, but… before he passed, Alex asked me to bring these to you.” The man extended a brown paper bag to Moira, which she took and quite nearly dropped, not realizing the weight. “Careful. It’s heavier than it looks. And you might want to put it in the fridge.”

Moira nodded, thanking him one more time, and closed the door, bringing the package inside. There was an emptiness that she felt in that moment – a chill in the air that wasn’t there before, and a sense that the house she lived in for a number of years with Alex was now larger, less cozy, and more intimidating. The space that he once occupied, even just in spirit, was now open. 

Moira’s feet carried her to the refrigerator, where she placed the brown paper bag, not bothering to look inside. She didn’t want to see whatever was inside it. Not at that moment. She felt time slow to a stop around her. Had she done that unconsciously?

She didn’t honestly know where she was going. Her feet carried her again as if her brain had just turned off. She opened the door to the closet that they had once shared and her fingers fell upon Alex’s favorite navy blue sweater. She pulled the sleeve towards her and took in the scent: something like cinnamon and whiskey, and uniquely “Alex.” It was in that fraction of a moment that it hit her – Alex would never wear this sweater again.

The first tear fell. It had happened before she even realized it had formed in her eye. It landed squarely on the wrist of the sleeve, darkening the navy blue color where it had hit. And then the other tears followed.

Moira screamed. It didn’t matter. No one would hear her. She was alone in her frozen moment and the worst part was that she knew that once she let time start again, nothing would change. She gripped the sweater in her hands tightly, hugging it to her chest, and sobbed. She sobbed until there was nothing left in the world but her and the sweater.

Moira didn’t remember going downstairs. She didn’t know how she had ended up on the floor, surrounded by tiny bits of broken china teacups and wearing Alex’s sweater on top of her dress, her neighbors still frozen in time, and mascara running in watercolor lines down her cheeks. Feeling close to numb, she stood and moved to take off the sweater, but quickly decided against it, the material hugging her loosely like Alex’s arms around her.

She avoided looking at the table she had sat at only a few hours ago, writing her reply to Alex’s final letter, and suddenly, stepping gingerly over jagged shards of a broken plate, she remembered the brown bag. She took a few more ginger steps, smaller pieces of china crunching under her shoes, and opened the refrigerator, retrieving the bag.

Opening the top released a sickeningly sweet smell and Moira could feel tears welling in her eyes once more as she realized without even looking what was in the bag.

“Oh, Alex…” she whispered, reaching into the bag and pulling out one artfully decorated confection. Belgian chocolate.


End file.
